


call if you need me

by soldouthaz



Series: call if you need me ‘verse [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Louis, Dry Humping, Grinding, Innocent Louis, M/M, Masturbation, Pet Names, Phone Sex, Phone Sex Operator Harry, Phone Sex Operator Harry Styles, Shy Louis, Top Harry, edited jan 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21643756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz
Summary: If anyone asks later on, Louis plans to tell them that it’s all Niall’s fault.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: call if you need me ‘verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071761
Comments: 36
Kudos: 542





	call if you need me

If anyone asks later on, Louis plans to tell them that it’s all Niall’s fault. 

And it is, after all. He’s the whole reason that Louis’ clutching the napkin so hard inside of his fist, smudging the digits of the number he’d written on there all those nights ago. Hands shaking so hard that he can barely hold the phone up to his ear properly. 

It’s not a regular phone number, is the thing - it’s the phone number of a phone sex operator that Louis is very much in love with. 

Maybe love is a bit of a stretch, but he’s not far off. 

Niall and his girlfriend are into that sort of thing apparently, and Louis was unfortunately privy to most of the details of their relationship that should be kept private just like he always is. They’d been eating dinner that Louis’d cooked them at his flat, and everything had been great. The meal was fantastic, they’d told him so, and he was proud of himself for not burning anything for once. In his excitement, he’d failed to notice how much wine they’d been drinking. 

When he’d come back into the living room after dinner, Niall was spread out on the couch with his phone in his hand on speaker, his girlfriend at his side, talking to a man on the phone and using some words that left Louis wishing he was able to scrub the inside of his ears. 

They’d laughed it off and gone back to watching a movie, only after making fun of Louis’ virgin ears for the next ten minutes or so between drinks. Louis spent the rest of the night with bright red cheeks and a wildly beating heart. 

So, that’s his problem. It wasn’t what Niall had said or the way that his girlfriend had her hand inside of Niall’s pants by the time Louis yelled at them to stop, no, it was whoever was on the other side of the phone. 

That voice has haunted him ever since, sneaking up on him when it’s quiet and sticking to his ears like honey, thick and sultry and playing as the soundtrack in all of his dreams. 

He’s been going a little insane, to say the least. 

His job is starting to notice, calling him on it when his hands shake as he hands drinks to customers or when he can’t type the numbers into the cash register properly, falling over his words each time he thinks he hears anything similar to the voice in the coffee shop. Louis thinks he might get fired if he doesn’t do something about it soon. 

Luckily, it doesn’t seem like Niall’s caught on yet. If he has, he’s a good enough friend to not say anything to Louis about it. 

Good enough of a friend to get pissed drunk and fall asleep on the sofa while Louis unlocks his phone and looks through his contacts. Nice enough to not wake up when Louis stubbed his toe on the corner of the table when he went to get the napkin to write down the number. 

Even that had been about a week ago now. He’s been too anxious to actually call the number. Either he’s working, or Niall wants to come over, or he’s simply too tired. Tonight, though, he’d worked himself up so much over it that he’d just grabbed his phone, typed it in and pressed dial before he could process what he was doing. 

So here he is, sitting alone in his bedroom, nausea building in his stomach and his head swimming to the monotonous tune of the dial tone while he waits. 

Maybe he’d written down the wrong number, or this wasn’t what he’d thought it was. He should probably just forget the whole thing. What would he even say if he answered? Louis has no sexy experience whatsoever. He doesn’t want the guy to think he’s dumb. 

“Hi, lovely,” the line purrs. 

Louis hangs up. 

\-----

Four days later, Louis finds himself in the same position. 

After he’d hung up the phone, he’d panicked. He’d sat, unmoving and breathing hard on his bed for a good hour before he’d gotten up and tried to pretend like nothing had happened. 

Except - his _voice_. It’d been just as amazing as Louis remembered and he hadn’t wanted to hang up the phone at all. But he’s not great with words, so he’ll have to find a way to work around that. 

The solution isn’t all that hard, really, and Louis thinks it will work quite well. He plans to try it tonight. It’s Saturday, so he doesn’t work tomorrow morning and he won’t have to worry about being distracted. Or disappointed, if he chickens out again. 

The first thing Louis does when he walks through the door is kick off his shoes, throw his jacket on the back of the couch, and lock the door behind him. Next, he runs a bath for himself and puts on music in the background. After that, he gives himself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror and tries to work up the courage to actually call. 

But this is where his plan comes in. In order for everything to work correctly, Louis will have to get himself right up to the edge before he presses dial, and will have to hang up immediately after he comes. 

It’s entirely pathetic and Louis is very much ashamed of himself, but he’s going insane and this seems to be the last viable option. Plus, this guy is anonymous, so he’ll never have to know a thing about Louis for this to work. Louis operates best when he can fly under the radar and avoid most social interaction. 

As the last of the water drains from the tub, Louis steps out onto the rug and towels himself off, slips into one of his softest sweaters and arranges the pillows behind him on the bed. They’ve got to be _perfect_. 

There’s another reason he needs this to work so badly, because he hasn’t ever heard anything as arousing as that voice. Getting off is always a chore that Louis tends to look at as a necessary evil. He’s got to do it to relax, but the process is never all that pleasurable. It takes a bit too long and he always ends up with an ache in his neck from the awkward positions, and then immediately afterward Louis always feels _dirty_. Like he’s just done something bad. It’s awful and he hates it, but there isn’t really any other option - until now, at least. 

He’s still going to have to do most of the hard work on his own, but just the fact that he knows he’s going to hear that voice later has him excited in ways that usually take him an hour to achieve. Quiet excitement zips through him like ice, making him shiver even though he’s got on long sleeves. 

Part of it is probably just that Louis is a bit touch-starved. Despite the fact that he’s in his twenties, he’s never been intimate with anyone. There’ve been no dates, no kisses, and certainly no action below the waist. 

Niall says it’s because he’s waiting for the right person, but it’s really just that he’s so socially awkward that no one really wants him. He’d made the mistake of going out with Niall once, to a bar, and he’d had to push through crowds of people to the restrooms before he emptied his stomach in a rush. He’d spent the remainder of the night hunched over the grimy bowl, phone clutched in his hand waiting for the signal to meet back at the car so they could finally go home. He hadn’t even had a drink. One guy offered, but he’d declined. 

So this really _is_ his only option left. That thought isn’t too sexy, though, so Louis tries to focus back on the moment. 

Naked from the waist down, it’s surprisingly easy for Louis to reach a hand down to lightly stroke himself, just enough to get his blood flowing before pulling back and starting all over again. 

He’s hard already, which is also unexpected, cock beginning to stand up parallel to his covered belly and leaking slightly from the tip. Closing his eyes and concentrating on what’s about to happen, Louis lets his hand wrap around the length, moving slowly up and down into a familiar rhythm. 

Teeth come down hard on his bottom lip, stinging while he tries to keep in any sound. He can already feel sweat beginning to form at his hairline, trickling down over his forehead and furrowed brows. 

It still takes a bit, his arm beginning to strain from overuse and his back arching and relaxing over and over again before he finally feels it, but it’s still a thousand times quicker than if this had been one of his regular wanks. 

The hand that’s wrapped around his cock is a blur when he looks down at it, his legs bent at the knee and thighs clenching when he remembers the phone sitting in his other hand.  
He gives it one more minute, and then shakily uses his thumb to press the green call button, pressing the phone up to his ear. 

Everything feels so _good_. For once Louis isn’t straining or hurting himself, and this doesn’t feel like one less thing off of his to-do list for the day. He doesn’t feel dirty yet, or ashamed. He feels sexy, almost, body drawn up tight and desperate for release. His hand speeds up, working over the head of his cock and he bites his lip harder. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” 

Mouth falling open on a silent moan and eyes rolling to the back of his head, Louis clenches the sheets in his hand and lets the phone fall flat onto his pillow after he hears the voice, and he comes so hard that stars dance behind his eyes. 

\----

He gets away with doing it three more times before he gets caught. 

Not by Niall or anything, but by the man on the phone. The plan had been working perfectly. Louis called in each week at the same time and everything went just as he’d hoped. He’d work himself to the edge, call in, and then hang up as soon as he finished. 

At work, he’d gotten a promotion for his newfound efficiency and attentiveness to customers, and a hefty pay raise. Niall told him he’s like a whole new person. When he asked what Louis’d been doing, Louis panicked and told him yoga, which is safe since he knows Niall will definitely not want to do that with him. Life is great again. 

It’s great, except that at the end of his last call, the guy had tried to say something to him. Louis’ finger had been hovering over the end call button when he’d heard a deep _hey, hold on!_ but he’d pressed it anyway. 

He’d been too hazy from such a good orgasm that he hadn’t thought much about it before he rolled over and fell asleep, but now that it’s Saturday night again, he can’t seem to get it out of his head. 

If the voice had sounded nice or welcoming, Louis might’ve stayed on the line. But that hadn’t been the case. The man sounded angry, angry with _Louis_ , and that’s not something he’s equipped to handle. He isn’t programmed to fight back or defend himself, so when someone yells Louis usually cries and then hides away in his room on the days that follow. 

Bath time is a bit stilted and uncomfortable when he steps in and sits down. It’s still relaxing, but there’s something in the back of Louis’ mind that won’t quit pestering him about it. Still, he goes through his routine diligently, shaving and moisturizing and washing until he feels good and clean all over. 

The jumper he usually wears is waiting for him when he walks back out to the bedroom, soft and comfy and Louis’ favorite color. He pulls it over his head and crawls back to the same spot. 

After the bath, Louis feels a bit more comfortable in his own skin. His bones aren’t too big for his body and his mind isn’t racing. The anxiety is still there, but it’s little enough that he’s able to swallow it down and redirect his attention. 

It’s so little that he doesn’t even remember what he was worried about by the time he’s settled back into the pillows, gasping, rutting his hips down into the sheets and vibrating with anticipation. It doesn’t even take much anymore to push him close to the edge, knowing what he’s going to hear at the end. 

The phone sits screen-up on the pillow beside him, and the sound of the ringer fills the quiet room before he finally remembers why he was so scared to call. It’s too late, now. 

“Hello?” 

Louis comes for a long few seconds, choking out small breaths into his pillowcase and biting down. He’s not fast enough, though, and both of his hands are still trapped underneath his stomach when the guy is speaking again. 

“Okay, I don’t know if this is some sort of prank call or what, but if you don’t explain in the next two seconds I’m blocking this number and you won’t be able to call here ever again.” 

There isn’t even time for Louis to think about how pretty his voice is because he’s making an affronted sound into the speaker, lifting his head up just far enough so that he’ll hear the whimper that leaves his mouth. 

“S-sorry,” he whispers, voice small and quiet. 

“Sorry for what, exactly?” 

Louis bites his lip and tries to take a deep breath. He has to talk - he _can’t_ lose this voice. 

“I - uhm,” he stutters, “I’m sorry for calling and h-hanging up.” 

“Just this time or every time?” 

Whoever they are must sense how upset Louis is during the silence, because they sigh, echoing loudly in Louis’ ear from the speaker. 

“Look, I don’t judge,” the voice huffs out a laugh, “Believe me, I’ve heard everything.” 

Louis assumes this is when he’s supposed to explain why. He gulps. 

“I’m sorry for everything. I won’t bother you again.” 

Dejected and with tears in his eyes, Louis reaches toward the phone. 

“No,” the guy says loudly, then quietens, “I didn’t mean that. I just want to know why.” 

“Well,” Louis clears his throat and shifts so he’s sitting up properly, then brings the phone up to hold in front of his face. “I’m not very good at, uhm, talking. So I just,” he trails off. 

“You just get off to the sound of my voice and then hang up?” 

Hearing the words come out of his mouth makes Louis wince, whimpering again at his lack of communication skills. But the guy hadn’t sounded accusatory or angry, just curious. 

Louis nods, whispering “Yeah.” 

“Okay, that makes a lot more sense,” the voice is quiet for a moment, “you know, you can let me do the talking, if you want? That’s sort of the point.” He laughs. “You can call in and I won’t make you say a word, love.”

Louis’ mouth waters at the thought. He catches himself. 

“Would you like that?” 

He whispers again, “Yes,” then adds, “please.” 

“Brilliant. I assume you’ve already been taken care of for tonight, but I’ll talk to you next Saturday, yeah?” 

“Okay,” Louis says around his fingernail. 

“Bye, love. It was nice talking to you for once.”

With a chuckle and a soft sigh, the voice is gone again. Louis lays on his back on the bed and hides his grin behind his hand, pretends that the lump in his throat is from familiar fear and not butterflies. 

\----

By the time another week rolls around, Louis’ exhausted. He’s still happy, but the last call left him uneasy at the thought of the next one. He’d said that Louis could just be silent, but would that be weird? Surely it wasn’t a normal request. 

Despite his nervousness, Louis feels like he’s in too deep now, anyway. He’s sort of at this guy’s mercy when he thinks about it, because he’d do anything to keep hearing him talk. There’s no way it’s true, but it’s like it prepares him for the week, makes him calm and happy and everything he wishes he could be on his own. He’d be crazy to give that up just because he’s embarrassed of someone’s opinion of him that can’t even _see_ him. 

He skips the bath for today and goes straight to his room, changes out of his work clothes and flops down on top of the bed. A nap would be lovely, but the subtle thrum of his bones tells him he probably wouldn’t be able to anyway. Instead, he makes himself a cup of tea and waits until exactly seven o’clock to call, like usual. 

The dial tone seems much more intimidating when he knows what’s about to happen, so he savors the mouthful of the hot drink and squeezes his eyes shut while he waits for an answer. Usually it takes six rings until he picks up, not that Louis’ been paying attention to that. 

He still counts. 

_One, two, three, four, five_ \- 

“Hey, angel,” he hums. 

“Hi,” Louis whispers, barely audible. 

He sets his cup down on the nightstand and tries to relax. 

“So, I was thinking about how we could do this,” he says, “I think the best way would be for you to just indicate yes or no when I ask questions, or just don’t say anything if it makes you uncomfortable.” 

Tilting his head, Louis makes an inquisitive sound. 

“Questions about what you like, love. It helps me make this better for you,” he laughs. “Sound okay?” 

“Hmm-mmm,” He hums his _yes_. 

“We’ll start simple. What are you wearing?” 

It’s not a new line, but hearing him say it has Louis panting already, arousal dipping inside of his tummy and making his prick twitch inside of his pants, exhilarated by the human interaction. 

“Are you naked?” 

Louis hums again, shaking his head no. 

“Waiting for permission, hm?” The voice sounds like it’s smiling, “Why don’t you go ahead and get comfortable, yeah? Whatever that is for you.” 

This could be an issue. Louis’ already fully hard inside of his boxers, moans weakly when his prick pushes up against the rough fabric. He’s never been so worked up so fast. How does this guy seem to know exactly what to say? 

“Good, love,” he breathes through the line. 

Without wasting any more time, Louis keeps one hand clutched tight on the phone and uses the other to push down his pants and boxers in one motion, tossing them to the other side of the bed and then settling back into the pillows. 

“You’re going to have to help me out a bit, love. We’ll get more in depth next time but for now,” he breathes in, “is it okay if I just call you love?” 

Louis nearly gets whiplash from his quick nod, humming into the microphone. 

“Want you to start slowly, yeah? Bring your hand up to your mouth and suck on two of your fingers.” 

The voice is different now. Instead of the sweet drawl it usually has, it’s got a hint of finalty to it, deep and dominant and firm inside of his ear. It’s _better_. Louis’ got his fingers inside of his mouth within seconds. 

“Good,” the voice says quietly, “get them nice and wet for me.” 

He’s breathing harshly through his nose already, tonguing sloppily over his fingers and eyes fluttering shut, face tilted into the phone. He doesn’t remember being this shameless, but he feels too good to care. 

“Take them out now,” Louis obeys him, “touch yourself for me. Start slow.”

Sliding the wet digits down his chin and over his chest, Louis trails them lower until they’re just barely touching the side of his cock, jolting his body while his mouth drops open. 

“Thas’ it, let me hear you, love.” 

He doesn’t think he’s making any noise, but for some reason that he doesn’t want to think too hard about right now, he feels amazing. Like, mind-blowing, never-felt-so-good amazing. He feels taken care of and important and happy. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was shouting into the phone. 

“A little faster now, there you go,” the voice urges, sounding a bit frantic itself. 

Louis sniffs and shuts his eyes again, tosses his head side to side on the pillow the faster his hand moves. Now that he’s allowed, he’s moving much quicker, but still not quite quick enough. Something tells him the guy knows that, though. He forces his hand to stay at the teasing speed, hips pumping up into his fist helplessly. 

“Let me know when you’re close,” he says. 

He’s close _now_. If he could just go a little faster - 

“You just need a little more, don’t you, love?” He croons, “I bet you’re so worked up, so ready to come for me.”

Louis keens into the microphone. 

“Oh, love. Doing so well, doing everything I ask of you. See, you don’t even have to talk.” 

Toes curling at the end of the bed, Louis’ hand tenses around the phone while he tries to stay quiet, tries to keep his hand from moving how he needs it to. 

“A little faster now, love.”

Louis breathes in sharply, pushes his chest forward as he begins to feel himself about to come, and he whines toward the phone. 

“Are you close?” The guy pants, “Do you want to come for me?” 

“Yes,” Louis breathes. 

“Okay, love. Go ahead, you can let go,” he murmurs. 

He doesn’t need to be told twice - Louis comes without even properly touching the head of his cock or his hole, doesn’t even get a chance to realize what’s happening before all he can see is white, blinking hazily up at the ceiling with a small smile. 

It takes him a few minutes to come down, his breathing and heart rate returning to normal while the voice comforts him. With the reassurance, Louis feels better than he ever has after getting off. He feels amazing and _clean_ despite being covered in his own cum and spread out across dirty sheets. The voice really _is_ magic. 

“Was that okay, love?” 

Louis hums his _yes_ to the voice one last time and doesn’t recall much else before he’s snuggling up into the filthy, warm sweater and falling asleep to the deep vibrato. 

\----

Over the next few calls, everything is perfect. The voice is attentive and surprisingly invested in Louis’ life story. He asks Louis questions about his life and offers small facts about himself late at night, after the fun part is over and Louis should be fast asleep. 

During their last conversation, he’d blushed hard at his words and made indignant little sounds through the speaker when he’d been complimented, even though the man couldn’t see him. 

“You’re just so adorable,” he’d said, “I bet you’re blushing so hard right now, love.” 

The words play themselves on repeat inside of his head. He hears them when he’s at work, when he’s trying to sleep - it’s always there. But it’s more than just that, and he gets flustered when he’s out and he thinks of other things the voice has said to him. It’s the dirty things, but also just when he’s being sickeningly sweet, whispering endearments in his ear and telling him he’s good. 

It’s also painful, because Louis wishes that someone would talk to him like that in real life, where he doesn’t have to hide behind a phone. He figures that’s most of the point though. The man on the other side of the phone doesn’t know what he looks like, so he can’t be biased. 

He discovers the voices name on the next call. 

It’d been after Louis came and he’d been a bit fuzzy around the edges, but he’d heard it clear as day: _Harry_. 

Louis can’t stalk him on social media or even see what he looks like at all because all he has is a first name that may or may not be his real, actual name, and the sound of his voice. He can’t search either of those things in Google. 

What he _can_ do, however, is savor every time he gets to hear him talk. Late at night when Louis is the only one that’s getting his attention and Harry’s voice is tired but still unbelievably arousing inside of his ear. It makes him shiver, that thought, because he’s never had anyone’s full attention before. Not romantically, anyway. 

Louis told him his, too, of course. He’d whispered it back to Harry slowly, like he was afraid he may mess up even his own name. 

“Louis,” Harry’d breathed, repeating it into his ear. 

Louis had physically jumped on the bed when he’d said it, breathing going choppy and heart stuttering at the end of the syllable, energy shooting through him despite the late hour and quiet flat. 

So, he’s a bit codependent at this point, but it’s not that bad. 

Tonight, he plans to switch things up a bit. Harry assumes that he’s always going to be quiet, but now that Louis’ more comfortable with him he’s more likely to talk back. He almost has, several times. Opened up his mouth and spilled out all of the words he’d been thinking inside of his head. Now that it’s been a good month or two, it feels like he probably should. 

When he calls at seven, fresh out of the bath and in his comfiest pajamas, Harry picks up on the second ring. 

“Hey, Lou-baby,” he sing-songs. 

And, _yeah_ , that’s another thing he’s started doing. It’s sort of adorable in a way that makes Louis want to bury his grin into the pillow and squeeze his eyes shut from happiness, but he refrains from showing any outward effects and smiles. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“How was work today?”

“It was really good.” 

Once he’s got the words out, he sits through Harry’s perplexed silence and bites his lip to keep from giggling. 

“Uhm, okay,” Harry says, his voice getting higher toward the end and making it sound like a question. “What are we in the mood for tonight, love?” 

Well now Louis seems to have lost his nerve. 

“Whatever you want.” 

“If you keep talking I'm going to get spoiled, darling,” he purrs. 

He lets out a faint laugh, but can’t find any more words to retort with. 

“I want to try something a little different this time, love. Is that okay?” 

Louis nods and goes to hum, but catches himself, “Yes.” 

“Good boy.” 

If Harry keeps saying things like that, Louis fears this talking thing might be much harder than he thought. 

“I want you to lay on your tummy for me,” Harry says, “turn the phone on speaker and put it down on the pillow next to you.” 

It takes him a minute to comply, even longer with his shaking hands and tense body, but he does so as fast as he can. 

“Okay, I’m done,” Louis tells him. 

“Good. Now I want you to put a pillow under your hips and prop them up a bit.” 

He shifts on the sheets and reaches around for his other pillow, dragging it over and situating it underneath his stomach on the bed. 

“Okay,” he breathes, “done.” 

There’s shuffling on the other end of the line like Harry’s moving around. For a fleeting second something in Louis’ mind panics, tells him that maybe Harry’s with friends or a group of people, but he pushes that thought away. Despite having only talked on the phone, he trusts Harry. 

“Remember when I had you get your fingers nice and wet for me?” Harry questions, Louis nodding into the pillowcase. “Want you to do that again, love.”

Slipping two of his fingers inside of his mouth doesn’t make him hesitate. He gets them wet like Harry asked and slides them out over his lips and down his chin, before telling Harry he’s done it. 

“Touch your nipples for me. Do it slowly,” he instructs. 

His voice is warm and low next to his ear, and it only gets better every time Louis hears it. He’s got an addiction, and he doesn’t even care. 

Louis doesn’t worry about what he’s going to ask of him because he knows that Louis hasn’t done all that much and isn’t very experienced, even with his own body. 

Harry’s voice is comforting and safe and everything Louis needs after a busy week, like a massive release. 

Hand trapped between his body and the sheets, he runs his fingertips over his nipples and closes his eyes. In his head, it’s Harry touching him. It’s always Harry now. 

“S’that feel good, love?” 

Craning his neck toward the phone from where he’d had it buried in his pillow, he hums his assent down the line. His fingers tease his own chest relentlessly, rubbing back and forth over the hardened nubs and trying not to rut down into the mattress and pillow below. 

And he does, eventually. Louis’ hips grind down softly at first and then with quiet purpose, a determined furrow in his brows while he chases his release. It feels amazing and Louis feels taken care of and he could probably come in a few more minutes - 

“Stop,” Harry’s voice echoes, as if he can sense what Louis’ doing. 

Louis whines pathetically in complaint even though his body immediately stills from the command. 

“Need you to listen closely, love, ‘kay?” 

On the other side of the phone, Harry sounds equally as affected, and Louis shivers on the bed at the thought. 

“Yes,” Louis whispers, not sure if he’s supposed to answer or not when Harry stays quiet. 

He does that for another minute or so, leaving Louis hanging on a dangerous precipice while he tries to catch his breath and pull himself back from the edge. 

“I need you to tell me if you want to stop, Louis,” he pauses, “can you do that?” 

“Yes,” he says again, nodding. 

He waits again for Harry to give him instruction, listening to his hushed movements as he assumedly situates himself on his own mattress. Louis shivers for the second time as energy zips up his spine. 

“Take the hand you touched yourself with and put it over your arse over your pants,” Harry says authoritatively. 

Confusedly, Louis does so. He’d been expecting something bum-related, but just touching it through his trousers is hardly what he’d thought Harry would ask of him. Still, his hand moves there quickly and settles over the right cheek, just resting on the material. 

“Okay.” 

“Grab it,” Harry hisses. 

Swallowing the awkwardness of feeling up his own body, Louis grabs at a handful of his arse underneath the clothes and tries to get into it as much as Harry wants him to despite not fully understanding it. 

Harry’s voice comes back much lower than it’d been before, crooning dirtily into Louis’ ear. 

“Grab it like I would if I was there,” he growls. 

_ Oh _ . Now Louis understands. 

He presses harder now, massaging and grabbing handfuls of himself like he thinks Harry would. Louis’ eyes roll back into his head the more he does it, the more he lets his imagination run away. 

Quietly but distinctly, he can hear Harry’s hand sliding over himself through the phone. He presses harder, moaning. 

“Yeah, there you go,” Harry says sweetly, “are you thinking about it, baby? What I would do to you if I was there?” 

Louis whimpers. 

“Let me show you. Slide your pants off, love.” 

As he stands up to do that, Louis realizes how hard he actually is. His cock is tenting his pants obscenely, as if fighting against the material. After they’re off, it leaks steadily from the tip and it looks angry-red. Louis can’t remember a time he’s  _ ever _ been so hard. 

“Done,” he breathes, laying back down on his stomach with a soft hiss at the friction. 

“Good, baby,” Harry praises, “want you to lift one knee for me, as high as you can.” 

It slides over the sheets silently but Louis watches himself move. Watches the way his muscles contract and his tummy clench in anticipation when his cock brushes the pillow case on accident. 

Then, when he begins to feel cold air over his back, on his arse cheeks, on his  _ hole _ , he realizes what’s about to happen. He isn’t as scared as he’d thought he might be, not with Harry guiding him through it. 

“Wet your fingers again. Want you to touch your pretty hole for me, baby.” 

Harry’s ability to talk so freely takes his breath away sometimes, but he figures it’s all a part of his job. To Harry, these things are a normal part of his daily conversation. His conversation with all of the other people he talks off on the phone. 

Louis frowns. Most of the time he tries to forget that Harry talks to anyone else. The reminder does little for his self-esteem and ego, but ultimately it just makes him jealous. 

Jealous, even though he can still hear Harry touching himself. Jealous even though Harry is panting soft  _ Louis, Louis _ ’ every few minutes when things go silent. So jealous he lifts his head from where it’d fallen overwhelmed onto the pillow to speak into the microphone. 

“Harry,” Louis moans lewdly, loudly. 

“Shit,” he falters. 

Smirking, Louis remembers his task. He moves his fingers down to where he’s exposed, exploring for a few minutes before focusing where Harry asked him to. 

His hole is warm despite the cool air, fluttering when his fingertips graze over the surface. Louis gasps. 

“Press down,” Harry commands startlingly, “try to get one finger in, if you can.” 

Bitter still from the thought of Harry with anyone else, he ups the pressure until the rim gives way slightly, enough for him to get just a fingertip in despite the resistance. 

Most of his clients are probably fucking themselves with giant dildos or have some extreme kink that reduces them to using an anonymous phone line to get off, Louis thinks bitterly, but he hopes Harry doesn’t think that about him. He could probably go out and flirt with boys, take some of them up on their offers for drinks and a quickie in the bathroom. 

But Louis  _ prefers _ this. Here, in his room, with the security blanket of a phone between them. With Harry’s lovely, soothing, safe voice inside of his ear urging him on. 

Somewhere in that thought process he’d forgotten about the others. Now, he’s just desperate for release, to hear Harry come, too. 

“Harry,” he whines. 

Louis can hear his smile, “I know, lovie. Feels good, doesn’t it? Imagining it’s my finger making you feel good, stretching you open just for me?” 

His mouth falls open silently on the pillow and his eyes flutter shut. Louis shifts around experimentally, his finger fitting deeper when he does. He keens high in his throat. Without a doubt, he knows he’d let Harry do this to him if he were here. 

“Do you have one in?” 

“Yeah, yes,” Louis babbles. 

“Good boy. Just feel it, Louis. Use your other hand to spread yourself.” 

Up until this point, Louis had completely forgotten he even had another hand. Flexing his fingers to regain the feeling, he slides it down next to the other to pull his arse cheeks apart even further. 

“Oh,” he gasps. 

Harry chuckles warmly, the sound of his fast-moving hand getting louder. 

The angle gives him even more access than he’d had before. With his leg up and his hand holding another handful of skin out of the way, the resistance he’d felt earlier is gone. Louis wiggles his finger harder inside of himself, feeling around for the first time. 

“Fuck,” Harry groans, “You close, baby? S’it feel good?” 

He can barely move his neck to respond. 

“Yeah, Harry,” he pants, “please.” 

With no idea what he’s pleading for, he works his hips down into the pillow again almost subconsciously while he waits for permission. He can’t come unless Harry tells him he can. Or, Louis won’t let himself, anyway. 

Harry grunts as the slick sounds become louder. A few moments later, when Louis’ so close his eyes are going blurry and his finger is buried to the hilt, his voice comes back. 

“C’mon, love,” he moans, “Go ahead and come for me, baby.” 

Harry lets him rut his hips down into the sheets until he comes, getting his chest dirty as well as the flannel cover beneath him. He holds his breath so he can hear Harry come, swearing and saying Louis’ name over and over again. He thinks he’s saying Harry’s too, but he can’t be sure. 

“All good, baby?” Harry asks minutes later after they’ve caught their breath, giggling. 

“Perfect,” Louis whispers. 

He’s still laying in his own cum at an angle that’s becoming increasingly uncomfortable, but he can’t move. He feels like Harry broke him in the best way possible. 

So instead of taking a shower or wiping off with a flannel, Louis straightens his leg and lays his head down on his crossed arms, listens intently to the story Harry begins telling him about his childhood cat, and thinks about how natural it all feels with a soft smile on his lips. 

\----

The only crush Louis’ ever had ended terribly. It’d been a boy a year older than himself, and Louis had it bad. So bad that he would sit in seats in his classes that he knew the guy had been in last period, and would try to be early to class just to catch a glimpse of him leaving. In the end, he’d gotten a black eye and bruised ribs from trying to talk to him one day after school, and he’d ran home to his mum and cried for the week after. He had to stay home until it healed, and told everyone he had the flu. 

He still remembers how it felt, though. Cheeks coloring whenever he heard him talk and heart stuttering when he managed to catch his eye. His stomach tied in knots and the inability to speak whenever he was in the room. 

All of it makes him anxious, too, but the point is that he’s got a crush on Harry. 

In some ways, he wishes he’d never learned his name. That way, maybe he wouldn’t be so attached. It’d been easier to pretend it was just a made up person when it was just a voice. Over the past few calls, it’s been names and hometowns and favorite colors, trivial information that Louis would picture himself sharing on a first date. He’s never been on a date, but that’s at least what he _assumes_ people talk about. 

He tries to push that thought far, far away whenever it comes up because it’s quite literally impossible. Even if Harry is his dream man, Louis will never be able to physically have him. 

There are many reasons for that, but two remain at the forefront of his brain. 

Firstly, it’s severely unlikely that he has any sort of reciprocated feelings toward Louis, no one ever has. Secondly, he’s so good at what he does that Louis thinks it would be a crime if he gave it up. Secretly, it makes him a bit jealous, but that’s insane so he doesn’t think about that, either. 

That’s the key, really, is just not to think. To focus only on the act of getting off and then hang up. If only it was as easy as it sounded. 

It’s not that he minds, though. Louis is incredibly grateful to even get to talk to him at all. In fact, he’s so grateful that he comes home from work most days and makes himself _grateful_ multiple times in one night over just the thought of Harry’s voice, what he might look like, how he would act if they met. 

So, yeah, Louis has a crush. He hopes it doesn’t end as badly as the first one. 

\----

On Tuesday, Niall asks Louis to a party he’s been invited to. It’s a friend of his and he really wants Louis to go, had begged on his knees with tears in his eyes, so Louis said yes. Which was bad enough on it’s own, Louis willingly agreeing to be present in a social situation, but it gets even worse - when Niall asked him originally, he’d never mentioned which day. 

Saturday morning goes by quickly, and Louis rushes through the last of his work closing up shop before he grabs his coat and runs home, ready for his normal routine. 

When he gets to his door, key already poised in his hand and an excited grin on his face, Niall’s already on his doorstep. 

“Niall?” 

He spins around with a hand on his chest, like Louis scared him. 

“C’mon,” he says, tapping the door impatiently, “We’ve got to leave in thirty minutes. You can’t wear that to the party.” 

And it isn’t like Louis can tell him no, because he’s already said yes and Niall would be suspicious. 

With a dejected sigh, Louis opens the door and lets Niall eat some of his chips while he finds an outfit. In the end, he settles for the same sweater. If he’s lucky, he can escape the party early and come back home to call Harry. He wouldn’t even have to change. 

“I’m ready,” he tells Niall a few minutes later, biting down on his lip and running a nervous hand through his hair to make it presentable. 

“Finally,” Niall groans, “C’mon, let’s go.” 

On the way down to the car, all Louis can think about is if Harry will be disappointed that he hadn’t called. 

Niall’s phone rings when they’re halfway there and he gives a sharp curse before he picks up. 

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll be there soon, H,” he pauses, “yes, _we_. I’m bringing a friend.” 

_Great_ , Louis thinks. So he doesn’t want to go in the first place and he hadn’t even been _invited_. He’s going to be so embarrassed, can already feel the nerves building up in his tummy. 

When Niall hangs up the phone, he glances over to give Louis a hesitant smile, and then he’s back speeding down the narrow streets to some house in the nicer part of town. Louis rests his forehead against the cool window and looks out at the pavement below them, tries not to get nauseous from the anxiety and Niall’s driving, and sighs. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

\----

An hour into the party, Louis wants to leave. He’s never been keen on crowds, especially not consisting of immature, drunk, disgusting uni students. And to make it worse, Louis’ already graduated so he’s even more out of place in the cramped living room, clutching his cup tightly and trying to avoid any and all social contact. Niall’s in his last year and so are all of his other friends, so Louis isn’t sure why he always insists on including Louis in these kinds of things. 

It doesn’t really matter though, because Niall is nowhere to be found. He’d seen him and his girlfriend chatting up another girl earlier, and Louis assumes they disappeared upstairs. He’s too afraid to check. 

Instead, he sticks to his lonely corner near the kitchen, far enough away from the crowd to be able to breathe properly but close enough that he still feels the nausea swirling around in his stomach. He’d learned the hard way not to go looking for privacy in bedrooms at parties, because they’re usually occupied already. Louis scuffs the heel of his vans on the tile and watches his water move back and forth inside of his cup. 

He’s yet to meet the person responsible for the party, and the owner of the house he’s standing in now. Louis figures they must be well off because even though he’s only seen the living room, he can tell the rest of the house is spectacular. 

Beneath the feet of all of the people dancing, there is pristine, white linoleum and a chic, black, faux-fur rug sprawled out across the length of the space. The walls are adorned with the type of art that Louis would usually stop and stare at because it’s so captivating, abstract in a way that makes him think deeply and certainly not something he’d expected to find in a teenage boy’s home. He hopes he’s not in someone’s parents place and they’re all going to get busted. 

The music coming from the opposite corner of the room has him cowering slightly where he stands each time the beat changes, a loud and unrelenting rhythm that makes his head pound between his ears. 

So, all things considered, Louis is fine until he decides to move. 

He should’ve stayed put, but his bladder is too persistent to ignore, so he abandons his cup and slowly scopes out the room to decide where the bathroom might be. 

Louis gets all of four feet away from his spot in the kitchen before he’s running into someone, feeling the cold rush of a drink and ice cubes tumbling down the front of his sweater - _the_ sweater. 

“I’m so sorry,” the voice says. 

Louis’ head snaps up, brows furrowed and mouth opening a bit. 

“Are you okay,” he says with a concerned tilt of his head, “I’ve got a shirt for you to change into, if you want.” 

He’s following Harry upstairs before he can stop himself or think better of it, before he remembers how much he hadn’t wanted for Harry to ever see him in real life. They go all the way to the top of the staircase, pass by several other rooms with shut doors, and end up at the very end of the hallway, where Harry unlocks the door with a key. 

Harry smells warm when he lets Louis pass by his chest and enter the room first, a bit like pine and sweat and cheap body spray, but Louis thinks it’s wonderful. He tries to keep his face from coloring when he smiles down at him and locks the door back behind them. 

Louis tries not to stare at his tattoos and the skin that’s showing between the hem of his shirt and his pants, the tan and smooth plane that Louis can picture himself running his tongue over. And, well, _that’s_ not like him. 

“This is my room,” Harry tells him, heading over to the dresser, “you can wear something of mine until I get that sweater washed for you.” 

He comes back with an oversized tee shirt, black and with a band logo on its front, and Louis accepts it much too eagerly. Harry doesn’t seem to notice, just chuckles and grins toothily and turns his back to him while Louis changes. 

Biting his lip, Louis rips his sweater over his head as quickly as he can, and slips the cool tee over his chest. Signaling to Harry that he’s done with a quiet cough, he hands his wet one over to Harry and smiles in thanks. 

“Awesome, I’ll put it in the wash for a bit and bring it back to you. You’re welcome to wait in here if you want.” 

When Louis nods but doesn’t answer, Harry walks back over to the door but squints as his hand hovers above the doorknob. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? I’m sorry if I upset you,” he frowns. 

Louis hurries to shake his head back and forth, waving a hand, and sits down gingerly on the edge of Harry’s bed, crossing his ankles. 

Harry touches his chin to his chest once and then leaves the room, telling him he’ll be back in a bit. 

Exhaling through his nose, Louis lets his eyes flutter shut as he processes the night inside of his head. That was Harry. Louis’ sure of it. He’d have known that voice anywhere, wouldn’t have mistaken it for anything. 

He’s excited that he found him, but it hurts just the same. Harry is even more gorgeous than Louis pictured him to be inside of head, all dimples and smiles and curls and perfection - so far out of Louis’ league it’s laughable. At least before he could’ve imagined that, by some miracle, maybe Harry was around the same level of attractiveness as Louis was. He’d been very, very wrong. 

So he’s got all of this new and exciting information and nothing to do with it. Heart constricting painfully, Louis swears he isn’t going to cry. 

Hearing a voice had been one thing, an obsession that Louis knew logically could never last long term. Now that he knows Harry’s so close to him, it’s going to be harder. He’s probably going to have to stop calling because it’ll make him feel guilty, and that means he’s got to go back to the way things were before. The bleak, dull reality of his life that he’d been lucky enough to escape from the past few months. He’s out of time, now. 

Shakily, Louis stands up from the bed and slips back through the door, down the hall to where he saw a bathroom. He locks the door and pulls out his phone, dials Harry’s number out of habit. If this is the last time he’s going to get to hear his voice, he’s going to savor it. 

And it’s not nice or romantic, Louis’ in a small bathroom with the lights off save for a nightlight plugged into the wall across from him, skin still sticky from the spilled drink and heart pounding inside of his chest. He calls anyway. 

Despite hosting a party with more people than Louis can count in attendance, Harry picks up on the third ring. 

“Hey, Lou!” He cheers, “Give me a sec.” 

Louis can hear him murmuring _excuse me’s_ and the hum of the party going on behind him and almost feels guilty. Almost. 

“Okay,” he says, and Louis thinks that’s the sound of a door being shut. “Sorry, I’m at a party and I had to escape. I’m in the bathroom,” he chuckles warmly, sending tingles up and down Louis’ neck as he shivers against the cabinet. 

“Hey,” Louis says, nosing at the material of Harry’s shirt on his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong, are you okay? Where are you?” 

Louis smiles sadly. “I’m okay. I’m out with a friend. Didn’t want to miss our time.” 

“Oh good,” Harry laughs, “I was waiting for your call.” 

His eyes are already wet with tears, but Louis swallows around the lump in his throat and tries to ignore it. 

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Louis whispers. 

It all goes fairly quickly after that, Louis lets Harry talk him off one last time as he clutches the phone tightly in his hand, bites his lip to hold back the sobs, and whimpers through his release. He hears Harry do the same, a trend he’d picked up over the last few calls, and it makes him frown when he thinks about all of the times he’s never going to hear that again. Why can’t he have anything good? 

“Alright, love?” Harry asks later, after he’s caught his breath. 

Louis hums his _yes_. 

Then, quietly, Harry speaks again and Louis has to press his ear closer to the speaker to hear him properly. 

“I wish I could see you right now.” 

At that, Louis does actually sob, his lip trembling while he tries to breathe normally. 

“Me, too,” he says, and then, when Harry goes to ask him what’s wrong, “Goodbye, Harry.” 

Louis hangs up. 

\----

He’s back in Harry’s room by the time his shirt is done drying, focusing on keeping his face straight and playing with his fingers in his lap while he waits. 

“Alright,” Harry’s voice makes him look up, “good as new.” 

Harry hands the sweater to him all warm and clean and Louis nods, but he can tell there’s something different. Harry’s eyes aren’t as bright as they were earlier, and he’s not as energetic. Louis’ heart pangs. 

He turns again so Louis can change back, and waits for the signal to take his own shirt back from Louis’ outstretched hand. 

Louis feels like he should say thank you, show his gratitude somehow, but all he does is nod again and turn to head for the door. Before he can, though, a familiar voice is cutting through the silence. 

“Hey, H. Have you seen -” Niall pauses halfway into the room, “Oh! There you are, Louis. You ready to go?” 

“Louis?” Harry repeats. 

Louis can see the exact moment that everything clicks, can see the way Harry’s eyes dart up and over to him, his hands twitching by his sides and the confused tilt of his mouth. Then his face morphs into something like understanding, and Louis can’t stick around for the pity rejection. 

“Wait, you guys know each other?” 

Rushing forward to grab Niall’s arm, he pulls him from the room and down the hall quickly to the sound of Niall’s protests. Louis doesn’t let go until they’re back at the car parked down the street, where he hastily grabs for the handle and swings himself in under Niall’s inquisitorial gaze. 

“What the hell was that?” 

Shaking his head back and forth, Louis can feel himself getting worked up again, fat tears running down his cheeks no matter how hard he tries to stop them. Niall must get it, because he sighs and rubs Louis’ shoulder before starting the car. 

“You can always talk to me if you need to, yeah?” He says, “Let’s get you back home.” 

Louis doesn’t even want to go home. He wants to go back inside, back into Harry’s arms, and never leave. 

He settles for the background noise of Niall’s car radio and the screeching of his old tires as they retrace the drive back to his flat, and Louis thinks about how he doesn’t feel nervous anymore. Now, he just feels empty. 

\----

It’s been one week. 

An entire seven days, a whole one hundred and sixty-eight hours since the party, and since he’s spoken to Harry. 

In his dreams, Harry’d called him immediately after the party and told him that he was in love with him and thought he was amazing. Instead, in real life, Louis’ phone sits dormant on his bed beside him even though it’s after seven o’clock on a Saturday night. 

Harry hadn’t called to check on him and he hadn’t called tonight when Louis missed their time. He didn’t care, that much was obvious. It’s only eight-thirty, but Louis figures if Harry’d been planning on calling him he would have by now. 

Niall hasn’t bothered him much either, just drops by every other day or so to bring some takeout and update Louis on the happenings of the outside world. Louis likes Niall because he knows that sometimes Louis just needs to be alone and he doesn’t question him for it. 

Except that isn’t necessarily true right now. Louis wants to be with someone, it’s just not Niall. It’s someone he can’t have, someone that obviously doesn’t want him. 

But Niall must be able to sense Louis’ loneliness, because there’s a knock on his door only a few minutes later. Grabbing his phone off of the sheets, Louis drags himself up to open the door and tell him to go away. 

“Niall -”

Only, it isn’t Niall standing there on his doorstep. 

“Louis,” Harry breathes. 

He steps into his space without Louis’ permission but he can’t bring himself to care, just lets Harry come closer and closer until he’s already inside of the flat, until he kicks the door shut behind him. 

When he’s all up in his personal space, Louis can feel his breath across his cheeks, Harry stops. 

“Hi,” he says, a hint of a smile on his lips. 

Louis goes to form the words of his response, but nothing comes out. Harry grins wider, confident as always. 

“I hope it’s okay that I’m here,” he says, “I wanted to talk to you.” 

Nodding, Louis gestures him over to the couch and sits down, glances over at him and waits for him to talk. He figures, by now, Harry should know better than to expect Louis to speak first. 

“So, I wanted to start by saying that I’m sorry for not calling you after the party. I wanted to figure some things out first, before I spoke to you again.” 

Harry sighs and readjusts his long legs on the sofa, clearing his throat. 

“I knew Niall from school, and after I found out he knew you I sort of figured out the trail,” he scratches the back of his neck, “So, what I thought happened, is that you got my number from Niall. But then I asked him about it last week and he said he hadn’t given it to you, and I didn’t want to let him know about anything private so I just pretended it was my regular phone number I was talking about.” 

_Thank God_ , Louis thinks. 

“That led me to wonder about how you really got my number, because not many people know what I do except for Niall and a few of my friends, and I don’t advertise anywhere near the school.” 

Oh no, Harry’s going to make him explain, isn’t he? 

“So, I guess I’m just wondering how you found me, if you’ll tell me?” 

Louis opens his mouth but his face flushes red, and he shakes his head, looking down toward his lap dejectedly. He _wants_ to - he just can’t. 

Harry seems just as disappointed for a few minutes, but then he perks up like he’s got an idea. Pulling out his phone, Louis watches him tap a few buttons before he can hear his own phone beginning to vibrate on the table. 

He looks toward it while Harry stares at him, debating his options. Ultimately, just before the final ring, Louis grabs the cell and brings it up to his ear, turning to face Harry on the couch. 

“Hey, Lou,” he says, tentatively. 

Louis rolls his lips together. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“I’ve missed you.” Harry says. 

“Me, too.” 

He isn’t really sure why it’s so much easier for him to talk on the phone when he’s got the real Harry right in front of him, but it is. It’s familiar, the feel of the screen against his ear and the slight delay when he talks. It feels comfortable, safe. 

“D’you want to tell me how you got my number, love?” 

Louis whines a bit at that, quietly but loud enough that Harry smirks a bit when he catches his eye and Louis blushes even more. 

“I got it from Niall,” he swallows dryly, “one night when he was passed out on my couch.” 

“How did you know he had it?” Harry asks. 

“I heard him talking to you,” Louis answers honestly. 

Harry’s eyes light up after he says it, like he remembers what he’s talking about, and he nods slowly at Louis. It’s quiet for a minute, Harry staring at him and Louis looking down at his lap, until he talks again. 

“Why didn’t you want me to know that it was you at the party?” 

“Scared,” Louis offers with a shrug. 

Harry makes a noise across from Louis that sounds pained, but when he looks up Harry’s brows are furrowed and his bottom lip is out like he’s sad, and Louis frowns. 

“I was so hoping that it was you,” Harry admits, “I knew it probably wasn’t because you were so beautiful, but I was hoping.” 

Louis bristles, making a confused face. 

“I mean it, Louis, I was.” 

He’s about to brush it off again but Harry seems so genuine, serious, with his face set in hard lines and his eyes scanning over Louis’ movements. 

“Don’t say goodbye again, okay?” 

Harry shifts closer, phone still up to his ear, moves into Louis’ space until his face is only a few inches away. 

“Don’t be scared,” he whispers, echoing in both of their speakers. 

Louis can feel his heart beating fast against his chest, figures probably even Harry can feel it, too, at this rate. 

“Don’t hang up.” 

It’s ironic when Harry says it, because between that breath and the next he’s moving in so close that they’re breathing each other’s air, and then his lips are on Louis’ and their phones lay forgotten on the carpet next to them. 

Louis kisses him back eagerly but with obvious inexperience, slotting his lips against Harry’s and trying to copy his movements and take advantage of this while he has it. 

“Louis,” he moans when he pulls back, sliding his lips over to his cheek. 

It’s got Louis panting, whimpering as he works his hips up into Harry’s and revels in the foreign weight on top of his body. It’s a bit odd because Louis’ never been kissed before. Never been anything, really. Too afraid to be that intimate with anyone and scared of judgement. 

But this is Harry, and Harry knows him on a deeper level than even Niall does. Knows what drives Louis nuts, what makes him happy, sad, and everything in between. Most importantly, he knows what Louis needs. 

Slipping one of his knees between Louis’, Harry grins down at him and runs his thumb over his cheek, catching his short pants inside of his own mouth. 

He doesn’t make any move to get Louis out of his clothes, and it makes Louis smile. Harry probably knows he’s not ready for that yet, but this, what they’re doing now, is definitely something he can handle. 

The awkward pressure of interaction had been eased over by Harry’s presence, and Louis can tell why. Harry moves much like he speaks, with an air of confidence and with languid, slow intervals that make Louis breathless. 

He works his hips up to meet Harry’s the best he can, focusing on keeping himself together. 

“Louis,” Harry says, pulling Louis’ bottom lip from between his teeth with his thumb, “Don’t do that. Want to hear you, love.” 

Harry moves faster on top of him, takes the sides of Louis’ face in his hands and holds eye contact. He doesn’t let Louis shut his mouth, keeps him gasping while he pecks at his bottom lip every few seconds. 

“C’mon, Louis, love. It’s me,” he smiles against his lips, “S’just me.” 

With a hand sliding down over his stomach to rest at the curve of his hips, Harry pulls one of Louis’ legs up around his own, pushes down and watches Louis unravel. 

“Oh,” he says, twitching, grabbing onto Harry’s arm. 

“Thas’ it,” Harry groans, working down harder. 

It takes two more shifts of his body for Louis to come undone, overwhelmed tears gathering at the corner of his eyes and mouth opening obscenely. 

“Harry,” he breathes, slightly in awe, looking up and catching his eye just as he comes. 

It’s all kinds of spectacular that Louis’ never felt before, and Harry kisses around his face as he comes down. 

“So good,” he murmurs, “so good for me, Louis. So glad I found you.” 

He’s got so many other things on his brain, so much he wants to ask about. _Does Harry like him? Is he going to keep talking to other people on the phone? Surely this doesn’t mean they’re dating, right?_

Harry shushes him with a gentle hand through his hair as he settles into the space between him and the back of the sofa, fingering at his sweater. 

“I like this,” he says, a thread wrapped around his thumb as he tugs on it. “It’s soft.”

He lays his head on the material and rubs his cheek back and forth before sighing. 

“Should we,” Louis stutters, “should we talk?” 

“Later,” Harry mutters, turning further into Louis’ neck and swinging a leg over one of his own. 

Usually, Louis’ brain would never let him relax this easily. He’d be up most of the night thinking, wondering about unlikely hypothetical scenarios that keep his eyes wide and his back straight with fear. 

Now, he presses his nose into the top of Harry’s curls, inhales his scent, and lets himself be held as he drifts off to sleep to the sound of their phones still open on the floor.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> you can reblog this fic [here](https://soldouthaz.tumblr.com/post/189980044591) :)


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